


Little Boy Blue

by hauntedlittledoll



Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 12:41:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14954889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedlittledoll/pseuds/hauntedlittledoll
Summary: Everything's fun and games until Dick gets a turn at being a toddler.Companion to "Rapping at the Windows" and "You Belong in a Zoo"





	Little Boy Blue

Tim craned his neck as far back as he could.  He could sort of make out the perch from this angle; at least, he could see the distinctive rock formations that protected it.

Of course there was no obvious indication of occupancy from the outside, but then again, that was the whole idea of the perches in the first place.

“You’re sure that he’s up there?” he asked again.

“Positive,” Stephanie chirped.

Tim considered the climb once more.  It wasn’t the height or the effort that concerned him, but rather the sheer expanse of open space between him and the well-stocked, completely defensible perch.

“And you can’t get him down, because …”

Steph fixed him with her best unimpressed look.  “Excuse you, I am cuddling Dick Grayson.  Baby Dick Grayson!  It is an opportunity not to be missed.”

Tim cast a skeptical glance at the tiny head pillowed against Steph’s shoulder.  “I could …”

_“Wait your turn.”_

Tim took a step backward.  If it came down to turns, he was reasonably sure every single one had been spoken for.

The little boy shifted in Steph’s arms to turn big, watery blue eyes on Tim.  Then Dick’s bottom lip wobbled as if he might start crying all over again if the older boy refused.

They had been conditioned.  That was the only explanation for why Tim automatically grasped that first handhold and hoisted himself upward.

“If he kills me and hides my body in the ceiling,” he called back over his shoulder to save face, “ _you_ have to explain the eventual smell to Alfred.”

“I think you’re seriously underestimating the power of guano,” Steph returned cheerfully, before abandoning Tim to his fate in favor of reassuring Dick that Tim would eventually return to him in one piece.

Tim wouldn’t take that bet if he was the toddler in question, but Dick and Steph had this whole optimism thing going on.  And Tim wasn’t going to touch that with a twenty foot pole.

He wasn’t sure if the pair honestly believed they could persuade the universe to accommodate them through sheer stubbornness, or if their beatific smiles were some desperate form of denial.  Either way, Tim wasn’t cruel enough to deprive them of an obvious coping mechanism.

They lived in close proximity to Damian Wayne.

Tim, at least, could leave from time to time.

He had actually been in the process thereof when the call came over the comms, and if Tim had been smart, he would have run while the running was good.

Babs and Steph could handle a little de-aging spell in their sleep.  The baby acrobat might keep them on their toes, but Tim had faith in Team Batgirl.

He should have run.

As if to punctuate this sentiment, a butterfly knife came down precisely between the middle and ring fingers of Tim’s right hand.

He tried not to be relieved by the display of casual-if-skillful violence, but Damian was Damian and if the ten year old former assassin wasn’t in the mood to defend his privacy … well, then they all had much, _much_ bigger problems than three year old Dick Grayson.

Tim waited to see if any other sharp objects were forthcoming, decided they were not, and shifted for better leverage to haul himself inside.

This put him immediately nose-to-nose with an unimpressed Robin.

“I am _not_ coming down.”

Tim poked the younger boy in the chest, prompting Damian to retreat a few inches.  “Okay,” he said, taking what little space he was given.

Damian frowned more intensely.  “Did you hear me, Drake?  I am _not_ coming down.”

“Got it,” Tim flapped his hand as much as he could within the tight confines of the small space.  Security and survival were the primary function of the small perches located in the Cave’s upper levels–not comfort.  “Now scoot over and make some room.”

“You can’t make me,” Damian insisted suspiciously, “because I’m not.  I am _not_ coming down.”

“I noticed,” Tim returned, “but I can’t go down without you.  So here I am.  Stuck up here with you.  _Scoot_.”

With some judicious pushing and shoving and not-a-little illegal use of elbows, they found just enough room to sit side-by-side without actually touching.

Probably as good as it was going to get.

“You can’t actually mean to stay up here,” Damian protested before any kind of companionable silence could settle.  “There isn’t _room_.”

“Not so much,” Tim agreed wryly.  “Guess it depends on how long you’re not coming down for.  I mean is this a not-right-now kind of a thing?  Not until dinner?  Patrol?  Or is this a never-ever-ever coming down again?  In which case,” Tim teased, looking at the small stockpile, “you’re going to need more supplies.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Drake.”

Tim hummed, and Damian visibly struggled for a moment before the next bit came out:

“I’m not coming down until they fix Grayson.”

Interesting.

“That could be a while,” Tim offered cautiously.

“Then I’ll wait!” Damian snapped.

Tim bit his lip.  “Saying you could,” he bartered, ignoring the immediate return jab of _trained by the League of Assassins_.  “Saying you could and would and did,” Tim continued.  “Why bother?”

Damian didn’t answer.

“You don’t have to befriend him or anything,” Tim argued swiftly–just in case.  “But can’t you just … I dunno … ignore him for a bit?  _Nicely_ , I mean, but just pretend–”

Tim hadn’t expected the interruption which was what made Damian’s small confession so shocking.

“I’m not nice.”

The boy’s head jerked up as if he’d surprised himself, and Tim found himself on the receiving end of a very Wayne-like glower.

“Grayson _knows_ that,” Damian added pointedly.  And then:  “I made him cry.”

Tim was still struggling with the appropriate response, because _obviously_ Damian made Dick cry.  That’s why Tim was up here in the first place.

Damian made Dick cry.  Damian promptly hid in the ceiling … which of course made Dick cry harder.

Tim decided on the mostly-neutral response of “So what?”

Damian looked at him as if questioning Tim’s sanity–which was nothing new.  Then the kid looked away.

“We can’t be partners when he’s like this.”

Tim was not qualified to deal with Damian.  He just wasn’t.  If the situation was anything but what it was, Tim would be climbing down right now and sending Dick up to take his place.  Dick was the demon-whisperer– _not_ Tim.  Tim was the rival and everyone liked it that way– _including_ Tim.

And Damian knew it, because the ten year old turned back to him with flashing eyes and vicious triumph in his voice.  “So you can just _go away_ , Drake.  Go away.  Go down and play house with Brown and … and _him_!  I’m.  Not.  Moving.”

Tim considered this.  He considered the sulking preteen next to him, and Tim considered what awaited them both below.

And then he dug into his utility belt for a pack of cards.

“Poker, Go Fish or War?”


End file.
